


Faith and Desire

by jecrismonamis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherhood, Character Death, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Gen, Hunting, Love, Post Season/Series 08, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jecrismonamis/pseuds/jecrismonamis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story inspired by the song "Come On Get Higher" by Matt Nathanson. OFC (Demi Remington) inspired by RP Demi Lovato.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith and Desire

Demi kicked the door down, guns blazing. As expected, Sam was right by her side, blasting anything that moved. When the mid-level section of the abandoned duplex was clear, they lowered their weapons. 

"I'll take the ground floor, you check upstairs," he growled. She nodded compliantly and set off in search of the spirit's remnants. 

Sam crept down the stairs to the first floor. Everything was pitch black. In the ghost-infested crime scene, his flashlight was useless, so he flicked open his lighter. He noticed blood on the walls right away, touching it gently. It was fresh. As he reached the bottom of the staircase, he could see the victim's hand, lifelessly hanging out of a closet, blood seeping onto the carpet. As he went to inspect the body, an icy chill brushed over the nape of his neck, causing even the finest hairs to stand on end. Sam reached into his pocket, slowly pulling out a small container of salt. In one fell swoop he emptied the shaker, causing the ghost to disperse momentarily. 

"Demi!" Sam shouted as the spirit appeared again, this time giving him enough space to whip out his shotgun, "Demi! Hurry up! I only have 4 shots left!" 

"I'm trying!" she yelled, fumbling through dresser drawers, a shot echoing through the building. 

Finally, she found it. Hidden beneath piles of letters and photographs was a china box containing an antique used hairbrush. Dumping a fistful of salt in the box, she drenched it in kerosene and stroke the book of matches, setting the hairbrush ablaze. 

Downstairs, Sam was pinned in a corner, struggling for air, the ghost wringing his throat like a rag. He couldn't breathe. Just as the world started to fade to fuzzy blackness, the spirit lit up in flames, and Sam fell to the floor with a echoing thud. In seconds, Demi was downstairs, right by his side. 

"Sam. Sam! Get up," she urged, shaking him gently, squeezing his hand. 

Coughing, he reached out an arm that Demi grasped for balance, and he hoisted himself off he floor. 

"That was close," he said between deep breaths. 

"You're telling me," Demi replied, her voice thick with concern. 

"What took you so long?" Sam asked, still gaining his bearings. 

"There was a lot of useless junk to look through. Not to be rude, but the vic was a bit of a pack-rat." 

Sam scoffed under his breath. 

"Well, at least we're done here. I don't know about you," he said as they exited the building, "but I could use a hot shower after that fight." 

Demi caught the tone in his voice, feeling Sam's breath on her neck. She stopped on the stairs to the yard, turning her head slightly over her left shoulder. 

"Be careful what you wish for," she said slyly before she moved forward. 

Sam smiled to himself and shook his head. As they reached the car, Demi made her way to the driver's side. 

"Keys," she said flatly, popping a stick of gum in her mouth. Sam rolled his eyes and tossed her the keys that were in his pocket. 

"You're never going to let me drive this thing, are you?" he asked, looking at her over the top of the car. 

"Nope," Demi answered, grinning wildly, gum showing between her teeth. 

The two climbed inside the 1968 Ford Mustang and took off down the highway, blaring Demi's metal tapes all the way back to the motel. 

"Do you ever wonder if this music attracts the demons chasing you?" Sam asked after about half an hour of listening to pig squealing, "I mean, I'm no musical analyst, but I'm pretty sure that guy just said 'I saved you a seat in hell'… I think." 

Demi laughed softly. 

"If my demons were chasing me because of my music, I would have knocked them all out by now." 

"So, why are they chasing you?" 

Sam looked over at Demi, awaiting a response. Her jet black hair fell in voluminous curls over her shoulders, her brown eyes smoldering with silvery black makeup. The four rings she wore on her hands drew attention to her shiny black nails and elaborate tattoos. If hunters held beauty pageants, Demi would be queen for eternity. She was stunning, and fierce... and absolutely brilliant. She knew more about monsters and hunting than Sam could comprehend. It terrified and mesmerized him all at once. Demi chuckled subduedly, her eyes narrowing on the road, a secretive smirk hinting on her face. 

"You tell me kid. Why do demons bother chasing anybody?"

Sam shrugged, deciding not to say anything. When they reached the motel, Demi dropped Sam off, saying she wanted to grab some of her research on a new case to show him. He agreed and made his way into the motel room alone.

“Hey Dean!” he said, locking the door behind him. His brother was hunched over the table, cleaning his pistol.

“Where’ve you been?” Dean asked coolly, examining the muzzle.

“Demi needed help ganking a vengeful spirit a few towns over, so while you were with Garth I decided I’d help out.”

“Demi needed help, huh? And how’d that go?”

“Fine. I mean, it almost choked me to death, but that’s not unusual in our line of work. I made it out, so I’m fine.”

“Hate to break it to ya, Sammy, but she doesn’t need your help.”

“What do you mean?” 

Dean finished putting his gun back together and turned to Sam.

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t tell me you don’t see it.”

Sam stared at him, perplexed, now sitting on the bed.

“Geez,” he said, running his hand over his face, “Wow, even at… How old are you now, twenty-eight?”

“I’m thirty-two, Dean.”

“Even at--wait, you’re thirty-two? How the hell did we miss your thirtieth birthday?”

“I didn’t have a soul, Dean.”

“Well, some mid-life crisis that was--”

“Get to the point.”

“Alright, alright. All I’m trying to say is that Demi is a great hunter… with great hair. You know I never say this about people, but for as young as she is, she knows a whole hell of a lot more than we do. I think she needs a little bit more than help from you, if you get what I’m saying.”

“What, you think she… likes me or something?”

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner.”

Sam laughed in disbelief.

“But Dean, she’s a kid! I was making my own sawed-off when she was in diapers.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from staring whenever she leaves a room.”

Sam averted his eyes, slightly embarrassed.

“Am I that obvious?” he winced.

“Good grief, you’re like a child. Look… You like her, and I bet $100 that she’s into you, too. So don’t act like that isn’t what’s going on.”

“Alright,” Sam conceded as Dean grabbed a beer. When his brother was shoulder deep in the fridge, Sam walked past him and whispered, “Since we’re admitting that Demi and I have a thing, I guess I should warn you that we fucked in your bed last night.”

Dean jumped, hitting his head inside the refrigerator.

“Oh, dude!” he exclaimed, rubbing his scalp, “C’mon, that’s just gross.” Sam’s face crinkled in laughter. Dean shook his head. Even if he was thirty-two, Sam would always be his little brother. “I’m exhausted man,” he said, once Sam had finished his giggling fit, “I’m hitting the hay.”

“Alright,” Sam acknowledged, still grinning, “I think I’m going to do some more research. There’s some stuff in Manitoba that could be a case.”

“Sounds good, buddy. See you in the a.m.”

Dean grabbed the blanket and pillow off of Sam’s bed and curled up on the couch, his need for sleep washing over him like a warm breeze.

 

_The sky burned red, the clouds emulating a dull fire. Over the hills of destruction rose a mass of animals, monsters of the night in their true ugliness, marching amongst a black fog. They were led by a large man, clean and pristine in a suit of white, riding a fiery horse. The steed halted, and so did the militia. Dean stood on a ledge somewhere, looking over the devastation with terror. He heard their leader speak slowly in his mind, even though they were miles away._

_"We are ready to fight, Dean. We are finally here. It is our destiny."_

_Dean sucked in a breath, horrified._

_"No," he whimpered, tears beginning to mix with the sweat of his brow, "Not anymore… Sammy! We're past this."_

_"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam growled roughly._

_There was a yell in the distance, and Dean watched as his brother's stallion reared it's head while the roar of a thousand creatures broke the airwaves. They charged forward, pouring over the hellish countryside._

_Dean cried, broken by fear. A steady and familiar hand gripped his shoulder._

_"You couldn’t save him, Dean," said John, watching alongside his son as the army crept closer, "So now he has to die."_

_Dean turned, but John had vanished. When he looked forward, Sam was staring him straight in the face, a repulsive smirk darkening his eyes._

_"Luci, I'm home!" he scoffed. Sam's eyes turned to fire and he roared to the sky, bursting into flames._

Dean awoke with a start, a scream escaping his lungs. Sam sat at the small table in the motel room, milling over the day's research. He looked at Dean quizzically.

"You alright?" he asked with calm concern.

Dean gasped for breath, adjusting to his surroundings. Sam's face was unbothered, nearly innocent. He heard the radio in the background, quietly playing classic rock. Dean shifted his weight, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"I'm peachy, how are you?" he grumbled.

"Fine!" Sam said, taking a deep breath, "Just looking over Dad's journal, seeing if anything lines up with the case. I don’t think there’s much in it for us."

Dean continued to stare at his brother, looking for a sign of distress or change. There was nothing, but he knew that didn't mean there wasn't something.

"So, you're doing alright?" Dean asked quietly, looking down to the floor.

"Uhm, yeah. I'm doing fine, like I said before." Sam watched as worry clouded in his brother's eyes. "Dean, what's going on? This is the third nightmare you've had this week. Are you going to tell me what's happening in that brain of yours?"

"No," he answered sternly, "Don't worry about it Sammy. We're past it. It's nothing."

"Obviously not," Sam retorted.

"Look, I don't want to talk about it. Not to you," Dean said, raising his voice as he stood up from the bed.

"Well then call Cas or something, because I need your head in the game on this one."

"He won't answer. He never frickin' answers! I'm trying, alright? I interviewed every skank in that bar about a pimp called Midas and not a single one knew what I was talking about." He had begun pacing around the room, but stopped momentarily to stare at a piece of peeling wallpaper. "Look, if you don't want my help, get Demi to help you. You fight better with her anyways."

"Dean, don't start this--" Sam began.

"I'm not starting anything," Dean said softly, "I need some air. I'll be back in an hour."

With that, Dean grabbed his jacket and left, peeling out of the parking lot. Sam stood there dumbfounded for a minute before returning to his research. A short while later, another car pulled into Dean's spot. He peeked through the blinds and rolled his eyes, getting up to unlock the door. Sam opened it and watched as Job for a Cowboy blared through the speakers before the Mustang quieted it's growl. In her standard 5-inch stiletto boots, Demi climbed out of the car, adjusting her leather jacket. 

"How on earth can you do anything in those shoes?" Sam asked rhetorically, smiling and shaking his head.

"Sam, I spent the first ten years of my life as a pageant queen. It is the nature of my existence," she said smartly, giving him a sly smile as she made her way inside.

"You are too much sometimes, you know that?" he responded, laughter in his voice.

"Rather be too much than not enough."

They smiled at each other as Demi took a seat on the bed.

“Would you like a beer?” Sam asked nervously, swinging his arm toward the fridge.

“Four years sober,” Demi chided. Sam shook his head at her. “Hey, I like to keep my head in the game.”

“Suit yourself. You said you had something you wanted to show me?”

“Yeah,” she said excitedly, reaching into her purse to pull out a handful of newspapers, handing them to Sam, “Four teenage girls were admitted to the mental ward at Longmont United Hospital, each two weeks apart, each diagnosed with schizophrenia, each claiming a man in a yellow suit came to their house and sold their parents a knife set.”

“Longmont, that’s not even an hour drive from here. So where does the schizophrenia come in?” Sam asked, examining the paper, sitting down next to Demi on the bed. She stalled, sensing his proximity to her. Shaking herself back to consciousness, she answered.

“The parents can’t recall ever seeing the man, and the girls developed hysterical and irrational fears of knives and nearly all sharp objects.”

“Sounds like it could be a case. Do you want to go check it out in the morning?”

“Sure, but what about Dean?”

“He left. Said he needed some air. I’m not all that worried about him to be honest. No more than I need to be. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself if he wants to.”

Sam stood up from the bed to throw away his beer bottle. She got up after him, aimlessly pacing around the small room.

“Has he figured it out yet?”

“What… us?” Sam asked blamelessly.

“Yeah,” Demi said softly. Sam chuckled.

“Yeah, he has. I played stupid at first, but then I broke the news. He’s being a good sport about it.”

“Alright. Cool,” she said stiffly. Demi grabbed her purse and fished out her keys, heading for the door. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Yep,” Sam answered, holding the door open for her.

“Okay. Well, see ya,” she said, pausing for a moment. When Sam didn’t make an advance, she left. 

Demi blared Lamb of God on the drive back to her motel, drowning out the dangerous emotions she had growing for Sam. They agreed from the start that their relationship, if anything more than partners, would be strictly physical. She knew better than to fall for a Winchester, or any hunter for that matter. Yet Sam had this pull on her, and she hadn’t felt this way in a very long time. It was a thrill, but she knew feelings were dangerous in this job, and she had to do everything in her power to keep her control and focus on the case. 

 

There was a faint knock on the door. Demi rolled over in her sleep, hardly bothered by the restless tapping. It continued every few minutes, and Demi gently lulled out of her snooze. She swung her legs over the edge of her bed, stepping into her slippers, and made her way to the door. She stood on her toes to see through the peep hole, her small 5' 2" frame barely reaching. There was no one there. Stepping back, she heard a noise she couldn't quite place. Demi pivoted sloppily to return to bed, but jumped back with a scream when she saw a thin, handsome man in a black suit standing on the opposite side of her room.

"Shhh, don't be afraid" he cooed, in a thick English accent, "My name is Balthazar, and I am an angel of God." 

"You monster," Demi grunted, pulling a pistol from the thigh-holster hidden under her sleep shirt. Balthazar stepped forward, placing his hands on hers, pressing her weapon down.

"There's no need for violence, Demetria. I am not here to hurt you."

"Yeah? Tell that to Novak, you son of a bitch. I don't trust a single one of you."

Demi had been close with Jimmy, before Castiel had taken him as a vessel. He was a valued member of her family's church when she was young and had been a father figure to her for much of her life. She loved him terribly, and was distraught when the angels had taken him. Demi had tried to believe that they would keep Jimmy safe. But she quickly learned that Castiel had destroyed him time and time again.

The angel chuckled and placed both hands on Demi's shoulders, stroking them gently.

"Castiel's decisions involving his vessel have nothing to do with me. I am here to help you."

"With what?" Demi asked cautiously, returning her handgun to her left thigh. Balthazar dropped his hands.

"You are a woman of faith, correct?"

"You could say that."

"And you have demons on your tail. Am I right so far?"

"Why does it matter?" Demi asked, snarky attitude seeping through her tired voice. 

"Because I can help you escape," he answered, matter-of-factly.

"You're lying. You don't even know my story."

"Oh, yes? Are you sure? Because I'm sure. I'm sure your father's dying wish was for you to live a happy and healthy life. I'm sure when you were only thirteen years old, you inadvertently made a deal with the Mr. Crowley, your middle school counselor, that no matter what happened to you, you wouldn't die. I'm sure you tried suicide after Crowley, the King of Hell, killed your baby sister in a car accident. And I'm sure that you're nearly twenty-three, which means your time is running out, and so are your friends and family. Now, tell me again how I'm lying and know nothing of your 'story'?" Demi ran her tongue over her teeth sharply, exhaling quickly through her nose. "That's what I thought," he finished smugly.

"Alright, fine. But I still don't want what you're offering."

"Ooh, getting sassy now, are we? Well, let me show how perfect your life would be if you listened to my advice, you pretentious little brat."

Balthazar touched two fingers to Demi's forehead, bringing her to a vision of her could-be life. She was a singer. A great one at that. She looked like herself, almost too much. She saw her ex and his brothers singing with her, all of them soaking up the fame like sponges. She saw her old friend Nick driving her car with horribly tacky fuzzy dice on the rear-view mirror. She saw her father, alive and drunk, as would be expected. Her mother and older sister were happy, shopping for things they could never afford now. And she saw her baby sister as she would be today: happy, healthy, and absolutely beautiful. They all lived in a house with a man Demi assumed to be her stepfather. She had never seen her family so happy, so... whole. But just as quickly as her vision started, it was over. Demi hadn't even realized she had begun to cry until the angel cupped her face in one hand, using his thumb to wipe away tears.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked sadly. 

Demi nodded, swallowing her sudden sobs.

"What would I have to do?"

Balthazar dropped his hand again, clasping it behind is back with the other.

"Sweetheart, I need you to make a promise first. I need you to promise that you would do anything to get your sister back, anything at all."

"I promise," Demi pleaded.

The angel smiled with crooked wickedness.

"Demetria Remington... I need you to kill Sam Winchester."

“Wh-what?” she stammered, sniffling and wiping her eyes.

“Not immediately or anything. You’ll know when you need to.”

“But… But why?” 

Balthazar began to pace.

“The Winchesters are very dangerous, Sam especially. I’m not sure if you’re aware of the angels’ stance with him but--”

“I know,” Demi said quietly, her voice hoarse.

“Then you must understand. There has been a disturbance in Heaven. Sam is about to do something terrible, and he must be stopped.”

“But what does this have to do with me?” 

Demi was sitting on her bed, looking up at Balthazar. He crouched down to her level.

“Because you are the closest thing to love he’s experienced in a long, long time. He would do anything for you, Demi. That is why I am asking this of you. If you do this for me, I will give you your baby sister back, good as new.”

She sat in silence for a long time. Love? Sam might… _love_ her? It was ridiculous, but Demi understood the power of love. It could make people stupid and reckless… and vulnerable. She thought of her sister. She thought of all the wonderful and beautiful things her sister never got the chance to experience. Demi thought of the nights she cried herself to sleep, wondering why only her sister died in the accident, and why so many others were given a second chance. Sam had faced death a hundred times over and was still breathing. She didn’t want to kill him, but her sister deserved to live.

“Alright,” she agreed, her words hollow in her throat, “I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful,” Balthazar said softly, “Thank you for the cooperation, Demetria. Your sister will be so happy to see you again.”

Demi’s eyes fell to her hands, and when she looked up, the angel was gone. Frightened and alone, she climbed back under the covers, reaching for the gold locket on the bedside table. She opened it and gazed lovingly at the picture of her and her sister. A whisper escaped her lips, only loud enough for her to hear.

“I’ll see you soon, Madison. I promise. We’re going to be okay.”

 

The weeks went by, and hunting was slow. Dean called a couple times, telling Sam he had business to take care of and not to worry, he’d be back when he could be. Demi stayed with Sam most nights. She figured if it truly came down to killing him, it’d be easier the closer she got to Sam, the more she could gain his trust. 

There was a moment, however, that changed her mind about the deal.

Demi was at the motel doing research on a potential case while Sam was hustling pool at the bar to get money for food. He returned around 1 a.m. with a stack of bills nearly half and inch thick.

“Damn, how much did you make?” Demi asked, looking up from John’s journal.

“Oh, about $300. No big deal,” he sniffed casually.

“Nice,” she said, laughter bubbling through her voice.

Sam watched her as she returned to the journal, skimming and examining pages sporadically, humming a hymn to herself that Sam vaguely recognized. She looked like a frantic college student, and Sam began to miss the innocence of his own college days. It was hard for him to believe that was nearly ten years ago. Now he was thirty-two, and was still inherently drawn to the prospect of knowledge. It wasn’t until he got to know Demi that he acknowledged her immense intelligence, however. To be honest, his first impression of her was a careless ditz.

He and Dean were working on a case in Texas about six months back. Some demon was posing as a beauty queen, mucking up the competition by killing off contestants. That queen just happened to be Demi. The demon chose to lay low at one point--or Demi had beaten it down, Sam was never really sure--and she begged for their help, claiming she was a novice hunter. After performing a standard exorcism, Demi asked if she could join them on the road, just to get some “hands on knowledge from professionals.” Sam was reluctant at first, ending his relationship with Amelia just under a year before, not wanting to interact with anyone he didn’t have to. But Dean, on the other hand, loved the idea.

“Why not?” he said with a smile, “She looks like she can handle it.”

And boy could she handle it. Their first hunt with Demi was a simple vengeful spirit in an old mansion just outside of West Selmont, Alabama. Even if the information was easy to uncover, it typically took Sam and Dean a few days, sometimes a week to solve cases like these. But by the time they were done with breakfast the first day, Demi had found out who the spirit had been and where they were buried and what else might needed to be burned. They were gone by sundown.

Sam was still somewhat bitter about letting a pageant queen hunt with them and called the first hunt beginners luck. That is until Demi exorcised a demon on her own when she was caught off guard in the motel parking lot when she followed them to Nebraska. Sam remembered clearly catching a glimpse of the demon’s escape and bolting out the door.

“Did… Did you just exorcise a demon?” he stammered, flask of holy water in hand.

“Well I sure as hell didn’t invite him for dinner,” she shot back, her voice slurred with sarcasm. 

“How long  have you been hunting?” Dean asked after they disposed of the well-ridden body and were back in the motel.

“About eight years, I’d say.”

“And how often would you say you exorcise demons.” Dean leaned on the table, sipping on his glass of whiskey.

“Dean, stop,” Sam groaned.

“No, it’s fine. I’m not bothered. Not very often, I guess. I’ve only exorcised four or five.”

“And you know the exorcism by heart?” Dean said in shock.

“Well, yeah,” Demi answered matter-of-factly, “I never got to go to high school or college, so I decided if this is what I am going to do with my life, I better learn as much as I can.”

“Wow, sounds like you like to take book learning seriously. Hey Sammy! She’s a nerd, just like you!”

Sam just looked at Demi, and he could feel his face in that moment twisting into a soft smile. She met his eyes and smiled back, her face glowing as she giggled through her nose.

“Yeah, I guess,” she continued, “I mean, I guess that’s why I wanted to join you guys. You’re legends, as far as I’m concerned. It’s like I’m job shadowing a celebrity.”

Dean smiled vainly and tipped back in his chair.

“Yeah, we’ve saved the world a few times. No big deal.”

Sam’s eyes were still locked on Demi. Every fiber of his being told him to stay far away, to not get attached. But he couldn’t believe the gold mine he uncovered, the treasure of a person that was sitting there before him. A smart, beautiful hunter that knew her stuff and was utterly fearless.

He was still as mesmerized by Demi now as he had been back then. He sat down at the table and put the wad of cash in the center of the book she was reading. She looked up quickly, her eyes round and startled, like a doe's.

"Let me take you out tonight," Sam said quickly. Demi glanced down at his hand, full of cash, and looked back to his face.

"You mean, like a date?" she scoffed in disbelief.

"Like, whatever you want it to be. Call it a date, call it a night on the town. I don't care. I just think you deserve a break. You've been working so hard recently, especially since Dean's ran off, and I guess... I guess I just want to do this for you. As a thanks."

"Thanks for what?" Demi smiled, cluelessly. Sam took Demi's hands--which practically disappeared inside his own--and sighed.

"For keeping me company, I guess. As much as I try to stay away from people, I'm really not someone who should be left alone. It sounds angst-y and needy, but I know it's true. The few times I have let myself be alone, it's caused nothing but more pain. So just, let me take you out tonight, to thank you. We can do whatever you want, and I won't complain. I promise."

Demi looked at her hands in his, and back to his sparkling hazel eyes. For the few months she had really known him, she had never seen Sam's eyes so bright. Maybe the angel was right, she thought, maybe Sam really could love her. He rubbed his calloused thumbs over the tops of her soft hands.

"So, what do you say?" he asked eagerly, beginning to fear she would say no. 

She didn't.

The two took Demi's Mustang and drove to the nearest body of water and parked, sitting on the hood, looking up at the clear Montana sky. It was June, and the stars were bright and sparkling.

"So incredible," Demi breathed, her face full of awestruck wonder, "It really puts your life into perspective. All these things we fear, there's just... so much more out there, y'know?" 

Sam breathed softly, wrapping his mind around her thought.

"Yeah," he said at last, "It really does."

And in a blur of motion, Sam reached over and kissed Demi hard on the lips. 

"What was that for?" she asked breathlessly when he pulled away.

"For being the amazing person you are. I know it sounds insane, but you're the greatest thing to happen to me that hasn't involved running away from my problems. You're beautiful, and smart... and a great hunter. And I don't have to lie about myself to you. I don't have to worry that my monsters are going to ruin your apple pie life. You're living this with me, Demi, and... You're the first thing that's made me happy in a long, long time. I... I really hope I never lose you."

Demi stared into Sam's eyes. They were brighter than ever, shimmering blissfully in the pale moonlight. His dirty hair gracefully fell in little, golden brown strands. His three-day stubble created a slight shadow on his face. His broad shoulders leaned over her, protective and welcoming, and she could feel the warmth of his body radiating into the night air.

In that moment, Demi said no. It didn't matter what he had been through or what he had done. Sam was a living, breathing, _feeling_ human, deserving of life. She couldn't kill him. She wouldn't. Her sister's fate was tragic, but it was fate nonetheless. Demi had to accept that.

"You're never going to lose me," she whispered in Sam's ear, "I promise."

 

_"Stoppit, Sammy! Those are my legos. Get your own!" Dean whined as his baby brother gummed the toy._

_"Dean!" his father boomed from the living room._

_"Sammy keeps trying to eat my legos!" the child cried._

_"Mary, would you stop him. I'm busy," his father grouched._

_"Sammy, sweetie, those aren't for eating. Dean, be nice to your brother," his mother chided, picking up the infant._

_"Why? He's just a slobbering little baby. And he smells!"_

_"Dean!” his father boomed again, coming into the nursery, “You better watch your mouth, or so help me--"_

_"John, please. Dean, don't talk about your brother like that. He may be just a baby, but he is your family, and you have to love your family."_

_"Yes, Mommy," Dean said obediently._

_"Now play nice with your brother," Mary said, setting down baby Sam._

_The baby gurgled until his mother left the room, then silenced and stared fiercely at his brother._

_"What are you looking at, freak?"_

_"I'm going to get them killed, Dean,” he growled in a deep, manly voice, “I'm going to get them all killed."_

Jumping out of his skin, Dean jolted awake from the nightmare. He looked out the window of the Impala and saw his old house across the street. 

He had been gone for weeks, staking out in the neighborhood of his youth, searching for answers about his dreams. But they just got worse, and he couldn’t shake them. First, it was just flashbacks, memories of watching Sam writhe in Bobby's panic room. But soon enough, Dean was seeing the future--or what could have been the future, if they had followed the angels' orders. That’s what had made it hard to stay. After everything that had actually happened, the dreams made it hard to just look at Sammy. The thought of his evil brother seeped into the few pure memories Dean had of their time together as well, his small mental blurbs from before the fire. The nightmares were destroying him. He gave up on prayer long ago, but decided to try and reach Castiel one more time.

Before he could fully complete the thought, the somber man in a trench coat appeared in the back seat of the Impala. 

"Where the hell have you been?!" Dean shouted angrily.

"Hello, Dean," the angel responded in a toneless growl.

"Answer me, dammit! Where have you been?!"

"I've been busy," Castiel answered at last.

"With what?" Dean spat back.

"Protecting your brother." Cas's voice was sharp and fierce. Dean stared at him, clenching his teeth in fear. "I know about your dreams, Dean. And yes, they have significance. That is what I have been trying to figure out."

"Well, what do they mean?" Dean said after a moment of silence.

"You're not going to like this, but the angels... they have fallen. Farther than I knew they could."

"Cas, what are you talking about?"

"All of my brothers and sisters that I killed in the civil war. Crowley brought them back. I don't know how, but they are working for him."

Dean continued to stare, dumbfounded. "What? How is that even possible?"

"Crowley somehow managed to bring my brethren back to life, so now they are indebted to him."

"But what does that have to do with me and Sam? And my dreams? We already stopped the apocalypse, Sam's been de-satanized, thanks to you--"

"That's just it, Dean. When I pulled Lucifer out of Sam's subconscious, I didn't know what would happen, other than peace for your brother. He haunted me for a while, but eventually he left. I think he went back to hell and is teaming up with Crowley." Castiel paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Lucifer wants Sam dead. He wants his soul back in the cage. Lucifer is doing everything in his power to get him alone so he can kill him. I understand that your dreams are distorting your view of your brother, but you have to find him. It is not safe for him to be alone."

"But Cas, I--" Dean blinked and his angel was gone. "Dammit!" he screamed, before shifting into gear, heading back to where he last saw Sam, before it was too late.

 

The hotel room was quiet, except for the whir of the ceiling fan and the creaking of the bed. Sam and Demi were tangled in the sheets, hot and sticky, rocking their hips together in a rhythmic, erotic motion. Gentle moans tumbled from their lips as they mouthed one another. Sam's breathing grew heavy as he panted in Demi's ear. She reached back, clutching a pillow with one hand, the other gripping Sam's shoulder, her thumb grazing the tattoo on his left pectoral. Coarse whimpers escaped between her clenched teeth. Demi opened her mouth and inhaled sharply. Sam clutched the headboard, grunting as he came inside her. Demi let out one last shrill whimper as her body tensed and relaxed. 

For a moment, Sam hovered over her, fondly admiring her glistening skin. He gently brushed a few black strands of hair from her face and ran his fingers over her collarbone. Rolling over on his back, he stared at the fan as it spun in sleepy circles. Before words could be said, there was a knock at the door. Without hesitation, Sam sat up, pulling on his pants that were crumpled at the end of the bed. Demi pulled the covers over her and turned on her side, snuggling into Sam's side of the bed. 

His brow furrowed when he looked through the peep-hole. Sam opened the door slowly, revealing a wiry man in an oversized Carhartt jacket. 

"Sam," the man said endearingly, with a wide grin. He wrapped his arms around Sam's broad shoulders. 

"Ehrm, hi Garth," Sam grunted, patting the man gently on the back. Garth released him, still smiling. 

"Sorry to bother you so late, but you wouldn't answer your phone. Luckily, your GPS was on so I was able to track you down. I'm looking for your brother--" Garth paused as he noticed Demi rustling under the covers "--Oh gosh, I am SO sorry!” he exclaimed with nervous laughter, “I hope I'm not interrupting anything. It's just really important that I get a hold of Dean." 

"No, no no, it's fine. We uh, we just finished," Sam reassured him awkwardly, "As far as I know, Dean's back in Lawrence. He left a couple weeks ago, said he needed some air, hasn't came back. I checked his GPS yesterday morning, but I haven't heard from him in a few days. Why do you need to talk to him so badly?" 

Garth's cheerfulness dissipated. He gave Sam a hard, stony stare. 

"Meet me at the diner down the street, tomorrow at noon. We can talk then," he said and he turned on his heels and left. 

Sam called after him, but Garth just disappeared down the stairwell at the end of the hall. He closed the door and turned back into the room. 

"Well that was weird," he said more to himself than anyone. 

"What did he want?" Demi mumbled, propping herself up on one arm. 

"Ahm, nothing, just looking for Dean." 

"Oh," she said softly, "Are you going to come back to bed?" 

Sam stood idly by the door. 

"Actually, I think I'm going to take a shower. Do you want to jump in after me?" 

She watched him for a moment before speaking. 

"No, I'm fine."

Sam shrugged contentedly  

"Suit yourself." 

Once Demi heard him turn on the shower, she made herself disappear. She dressed quickly and took all of her belongings and research. She was gone before Sam could notice. 

It had been weeks since she spoke to Balthazar. As the time passed, Demi felt more and more like she had been lured into a trap. She spoke with Sam lightly about what angels could and could not do. His experiences told him anything was possible, but something still didn’t feel right to Demi. Angels are commanding; they don’t make deals. 

When she left, Demi took off down the highway, heading south. She drove all night until she reached her hometown of Cross Roads, Texas. She found the town’s namesake and filled her box with the ritual items, burying it in the ground. It only took a moment, but there he stood. 

"Hello, darling," the man in black said drolly, his eyes flashing red. 

"Balthazar," Demi hissed, "I knew you were no angel." 

"You always were a smart one," he chimed.

"So what made you switch sides, huh? How'd Crowley get you to go so far under?" 

"It's simple, really. After my rebel brother killed me in cold blood, the king brought me back, good as new. Well, not exactly good," he laughed, "but you get the gist." 

"Why would Crowley bring you back?" 

Balthazar clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace.

"We share a resentment for what your little lover boy has done to our world, and with my previous loyalties to the big guns upstairs, I gave him an edge." 

"So you're just using me as a pawn for your little revenge stunt? I'm surprised." 

"Don't be. Sam and Dean are still the chosen vessels. Just because they buggered our first plan, doesn't mean we didn’t have a backup." Balthazar circled around Demi, running his bony fingers along her jawline, "And you’re much more than a pawn,” he cooed, “You’re the queen-piece. We can’t do this without you."

Demi’s breath caught in her chest as she went rigid with suppressed fear.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Who’s we?” she spat.

“It means you do whatever we want! We including me, Crowley, and the devil himself!” he snapped back.

“Yeah?” Demi breathed stiffly, “And what if I don’t?”

Balthazar chuckled, mockingly.

“Demetria, how well do you know your beloved Sam Winchester?”

Demi said nothing, remaining cautiously silent.

“Do you know that for a period of time, he was the devil? Do you know that before then, he was a very special kind of drug addict? He is a freak! Since the beginning, it was his fate! Do you hear me?! Sam Winchester was destined for Evil! You think you can stop that, just because he makes you _feel_? There’s a lot more going on than you seem to realize.”

“Enlighten me,” Demi sneered, forcing an attitude to drown out her fear.

Balthazar stood in front of Demi, close enough to feel her breath.

“Lucifer and Sam were destined for unity. He is going to kill him. He is going to take Sam for himself, once and for all. And you will never be able to bring him back.”

“But what about _our_ deal?” Demi contested, What about me killing Sam? What about my sister?”

“Ha!” Balthazar scoffed, “Your sister has been dead and gone for years. I was never going to bring her back. I just fed you that lie to lure you away from Sam. And don’t worry, one way or another, his death will be on your hands. You will have to kill him someday, Demetria, and when that times comes, you will know.”

Demi blinked and Balthazar was gone. Startled and a bit panicked, she ran back to her Mustang. She sped off down the dirt road, leaving a cloud of dust. It was hard for her to process all that Balthazar had told her. Demi knew about Sam’s past, but she thought

the apocalypse business was over. Knowing Lucifer was out to kill Sam terrified her. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t bear the thought. Demi pulled over at the first gas station she came to and called Dean. She didn’t know what else to do.

“Hello?” Dean barked into the phone.

“Dean? Oh, thank God you answered! Look, I know you’re having issues with Sam, or, whatever, but we have a serious problem on our hands.”

“I know. Angels are demons and Lucifer’s out for blood. I’m making my way back from Lawrence right now.”

“How did you--?”

“Cas decided to show his face again and share the good news,” he interrupted sarcastically.

“Oh,” Demi said dryly.

‘He, I know you and Cas have problems, but he’s my friend and I trust him. And so should you. Now where are you guys?”

“Brighton, Colorado. Not far from where we last saw you. Motel 85, north of town, room 14.”

“I’ll be there.”

When the line went dead, Demi surged onward, revving her engine. She glanced at the demon knife, sitting in the passenger seat. For all the emotions that had plagued her mind moments before, now she was numb. All she could think of was slashing Lucifer’s throat with the knife and praying that it’d kill him before he killed Sam.

 

Sam stood in the shower, slicking his luscious, golden brown hair back, letting the hot water cascade over his ever-aching body as the room filled with steam. It had been a while since he'd taken a decent shower, and it felt nice. 

There was a tap on the bathroom door.

"Can I come in for a second?" he heard Demi ask.

"Uh, sure. I don't mind," Sam answered, rinsing his face, "I'm almost done." 

As he stepped out, he blindly reached for a towel, rubbing soap out of his eye.

"Thanks Demi," he said when he grazed a piece of cool flesh with his fingertips.

"No problem, bunk buddy," a grating voice answered smugly. 

"Lucifer," Sam gasped, stumbling backwards into the tub. 

"Hi, Sam. Long time no spooning."

"Wh-what are you doing here? Where's Demi?" he stammered.

"Sammy! I'm offended. Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"You get the hell out of here, or so help me--"

"Ha!" Lucifer boomed, silencing Sam's vocal chords, binding him in his spot. He struggled, choking on his soundless screams. "You're little girlfriend is miles away by now, probably trying to save your perky little ass because she thinks she figured out my plan." Sam's eyes widened as he tried to scream. Lucifer paused for a moment, admiring Sam's nakedness, his body damp, still haphazardly resting in the tub. "You want to know why I'm here?" he said smoothly, "I'm here to kill you, Sammy. That's right, kiddo. I'm here to end your horrible, sad, freak show of a life. Why, you ask? Because you're all I've wanted, Sam. You're all I've ever wanted. But you just don't seem to understand. Using you as my vessel wasn't just your destiny--it was mine. We were made for each other, Sammy. Being in your head, seeing how you tick... Dissecting every inch of your soul. That was my paradise. But you,” Lucifer chuckled, “You just had to have things your way. You’re lucky your friends fought so hard for you. They really tried to rain on my parade. All I wanted was you. Out of seven billion people, it was only you.” He crouched down to Sam’s level, gently stroking his knee. “After my baby brother Castiel ripped me from your subconscious, I had to start from square one. That's why you've been getting those headaches, Sam. They're familiar, aren't they?” Sam squirmed under Lucifer’s touch, but it was no use. “Relax, Sammy. There's nothing to worry about. It's the same old song and dance. Except this time," he said, leaning in to whisper in Sam's ear, "they won't be able to bring you back." 

Lucifer began to mumble a latin incantation under is breath. Sam felt his skin begin to burn wherever the devil touched him. He watched his hands, but there was no sign of harm. He struggled, trying to escape the pain. It spread inward, through his muscles, then his organs. Sam screamed as he felt his blood begin to boil. Lucifer paused his chant and held up a mirror in front of Sam's face. He was not screaming. He was not burned. He gasped for breath, almost reveling in the brief halt to the pain. Lucifer clicked his tongue in pity, and Sam continued to burn. He screamed louder as he felt himself melting. As the hellfire crept to his heart, his thoughts leapt straight to Demi.

He remembered everything. The way her hair cascaded over her bare shoulders. Her big doe-eyes. Her rosy bowed lips. The way she tasted when they kissed and when they loved. He remembered rush of her skin and the sparks on her tongue when they were intertwined, the only honest love Sam had ever felt. 

The devil's flame overpowered his dreams, and Sam screamed in agony. Lucifer now stood over him, his face cloaked in sincere commiseration.

"I'm sorry I have to do this to you, Sam. But it's the only way."

As he lifted his hand to smoke out Sam's heart, the bathroom door burst open.

"Leave him alone, you son of a bitch!" Demi cried, demon knife in hand.

She stabbed Lucifer in the neck, but it was too late. The vessel crumpled, and Sam laid lifeless and bare in the bathtub.

"Sammy," Demi whimpered. She ran over to touch him, but he was cold. A soft groan escaped his lips. "Sam?" Demi knelt the tub to get as close as she could. "Sam, it's Demi. Can you hear me? Please tell me you can hear me."

"I--" he started, his whisper strained. She pressed her ear to his lips to hear. "I love you," he exhaled in finality. His body went limp, his breathing silenced. Demi gripped Sam's body, enfolding herself around him as she protested weakly into his shoulder, her eyes stinging with tears, her throat tight with suppressed sobs. "No, Sam. Come on," she cried, "Dean will be here any second, hold on. Hold on. Hold on."

"Demi!?" Dean shouted, as he burst into the hotel room, Garth stumbling in behind him. He froze when he saw the scene in the bathroom. Lucifer was crumpled in the corner with a knife in his throat while Demi clung to his brother's body in despair.

"No," Dean choked. Garth and Cas, who had just appeared, stood in the doorway, watching in shock as Dean tore Demi from her dead lover to hold her in his arms. Tears streamed down his face as he looked upon Sam. Demi sobbed into his shoulder and he gripped her tight. "We'll bring him back," he croaked, his words empty and listless. 

Demi shook her head and buried her face deeper into Dean's jacket. She cried harder than she ever had in her entire life, all her thoughts blaming herself. What had she gotten herself into? How could she not have seen this coming? In the blink of an eye, her world had collapsed around her, and now she was lost. Balthazar's words rang in her ears. _One way or another, his death will be on your hands._

 

When everyone had gotten their bearings, Garth attempted to comfort Demi while Dean and Cas moved Sam’s body to the empty bed. The angel quickly examined his lamented friend, and looked up to the others in shock.

“What? What is it?” Dean rushed.

“His body… it is in perfect condition but… his heart… it’s been burnt to a crisp,” Castiel said in disbelief.

“What? How?”

“I don’t know. Lucifer’s capabilities of torture are boundless.”

“Well can you fix him?”

“I can try.”

Castiel’s body stiffened when he placed his hand on Sam’s chest. His palm glowed, but Sam remained lifeless. Suddenly, Cas pulled his hand back, wincing in pain.

“Cas. Cas! Are you okay?” Dean rushed to the angel’s side.

“I’m fine,” he grunted.

“What was that?”

“Lucifer engraved an Enochian curse on Sam’s organs to keep me from reviving him.”

“What, so there’s nothing you can do?”

Castiel looked at Dean silently with remorse.

“There has to be some way you can bring him back!” Dean roared as Castiel looked up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said in his distinctive growl, “There’s nothing I can do.”

Dean went silent, rage and frustration building in his gut. He tore his eyes away from the angel.

“Get out,” he said bitterly, “You too, Garth,” he added, noticing the scrawny man about to chime in. Garth swallowed his words and made his way out the door alone, as the angel had already vanished.

Dean slowly made his way over to Demi’s side. She seemed fragile, but then again, so was he.

“I shouldn’t be so used to this,” he said, clasping his hands in his lap as Demi continued to stare at Sam. “It’s hard sometimes,” Dean choked, “Like, the minute you think he’s in the clear, something rips him away from you. And all you want to do is keep him safe, because he’s special, but deep down, you know that’s why they take him.” He paused, staring at his brother. “If Cas is right--if we can’t bring him back--I promise, I won’t leave you alone. I knew Sam loved you, knew it right from the start. And I know he’d want me to protect you. You’re like a sister to me Demi.”

Demi began to shudder again as she transpired into another fit of sobs. She crashed into Dean’s arms once more, and he held her tight, kissing her hair.

“It’s going to be okay, Demi. You’re going to be okay.”

The next morning, they gave Sam a hunter’s burial. Demi watched solemnly as Sam’s body burned. Dean stood next to her silently, but his words from the night before echoed in her mind. She didn’t believe him; she knew that she would never be okay. There was so much she had done, so much she was afraid to own up to. She was drowning in guilt, but to tell Dean about her past terrified her. She didn’t want him to leave her, too.

Dean wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“Come on, Demi, time to go.”

She met Dean’s watery green eyes, and for a moment, she saw the same spark of life that Sam’s always had.

“Dean?” Demi asked, eyes back on the fire.

“Yeah?” he responded in a husky whisper

She gazed at him, implicitly admitting all the truths she had to hide.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Dean kissed her on the head and lead her to the Impala without a word.

 

 

\------------------------------------------ 

 

(Aprox. 15 years later)

 

Demi sat at the kitchen table, humming to herself as she loaded rock salt and pellets into shotgun shells. She bitterly took a drag on her cigarette, setting it down in a hefty glass ashtray to her left. The house creaked in the breeze.

The hell hounds never came for Demi, and Sam had been resurrected. They had made refuge nearly 10 years ago in an abandoned farmhouse in southeast Texas. There was no one around for miles, and it had a storm cellar where Sam could do his work in peace. Not that things like peace truly existed for Sam anymore. After Lucifer spat him back out, Sam was worse off than he had ever been before. He was a killing machine, and nothing more, taking his payments in the drug of his choice. 

For the first few years, Sam had tried to pawn off his actions as good intentions. Demi would go hunting, and bring the creatures back to him if she could for Sam to kill. He would torture the monsters and drink the demons, feeding the hellfire that had replaced his soul. 

Since her separation from Dean, he and Demi had not spoken a word. Sam's horrific revival was a hushed subject, and Demi refused to tell him, even when Sam's behavior had gotten out of control. Demi knew she was trapped, but part of her still loved Sam, and sometimes she could still see a glimmer of life in his dead, hateful eyes. But eventually, she found her tipping point.

Demi had come home from a hunt, throwing a freshly turned vampire in the cellar.

"Sam," she called as she entered the cold, rotting house, "I'm back. There's a vamp in the cellar. Freshly turned."

Sam trotted down the staircase without a word slamming the door behind him. He came back a few minutes later, puffed up and rigid as he stood in the open doorway.

"Everything okay?" Demi asked.

"Is that all you could bring back?" Sam questioned, his voice cold and stern.

"Yes," she answered flatly, sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the window as she puffed on a cigarette. 

"You're lying," he said, slamming the door harder than before, "You lying bitch!"

Sam came across the room at Demi in long, swift strides, backhanding her out of her chair. She cried out.

"Sam! What has gotten into you?!"

He picked her up by her shirt and slammed her up against the wall.

"You know what I need!" he roared in her face, "You know what I need and you're not giving it to me!"

"Baby, please, stop! We can talk about--"

"NO!" Sam bellowed as he flung her across the room.

Demi cried out in pain. She tried to regain her breath and balance, but before she could stand, Sam was crouching over her, pinning her to the floor with a blade at her neck.

"The next time you go out on a hunt," he hissed, "don't come back until you have blood, or I will slit your throat like the rest of them."

Sam rose up, putting the knife back in its sheath, and left. Demi heard her Mustang rip out of the driveway, gravel hitting the side of the house. As she laid on the floor, writhing in pain, Balthazar's words echoed in her head. You will have to kill him some day, Demetria, and when that times comes, you will know. 

Sam did not return until late afternoon the next day. 

She sat in the kitchen, filling shell after shell, humming hymns to herself, her lips wrapped around a Marlboro. The rotting house creaked in the wind, and she sat up straight. Far off in the distance, she could hear an engine roaring as it blazed down the county road. Demi silenced her humming for a moment, but continued as she began to load her shotgun. She turned her chair to face the door, gun in hand, cigarette pursed between her lips. When she heard Sam's heavy footsteps on the stairs, she snuffed it out in the ashtray, readying her weapon. The door clicked, and the familiar broad frame strode through the door. He closed the door behind him and looked up. His dark eyes widened, and for a moment he was rigid with fear, but it was too late.

Demi sent shot after shot into Sam's torso, the gunfire drowning out her hymns. She walked towards his crippling body, each step a load of rock salt. She knew he had gone out to juice up. He was so drugged out that the salt seared his skin when it hit, causing him to cringe and cry out. When she reached her incapacitated partner on the floor, she grabbed a shell from her pocket and loaded it in the barrel.

"They were right," she chuckled, watching him grit his teeth in agony, "You Winchesters are nothing but trouble." Demi inhaled, putting her finger on the trigger. As she lowered the muzzle to Sam's forehead, their eyes met. In that moment, Demi felt their entire life flash before her. She let out a whisper. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

Demi planted the final shell, which was filled with gunpowder and lead, deep in Sam's skull. His body laid lifeless, sprawled out in front of the empty fireplace. Demi walked back to kitchen table to grab her cigarette, matches, and a bag of gunpowder. She turned the gas on on the stove, leaving a trail of gunpowder through the house. She snatched her keys out of Sam's pocket, and made her way outside. When she was a good distance away from the house, Demi lit her cigarette, dropping her match onto the line of gun powder. She jumped in her 1968 Mustang and took off down the road. And as the house burst into flames behind her, Demi felt a sense of peace. She was free.


End file.
